


Dark Blue

by gentlemercutio



Series: Colors (aka A DamiJon Verse that Nobody Asked For) [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Damian's emotionally constipated and we love him, First Kiss, Fluff, Jon Kent's a puppy dog, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27270361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlemercutio/pseuds/gentlemercutio
Summary: “I understand, Kent,” Damian said, but his voice was dull and cold.  “I’m a horrible teammate.”Jon frowned.  Anyone else and Jon would have seen it as the emotionally manipulative tactic it was: something meant to sink Jon down into the barbed pit of guilt and derail whatever pulse of annoyance had Jon springing after Damian in the first place.  After Damian kissed him in the middle of an argument and smashed through the window of his mom’s apartment and grappled off into the night .  A flare of brute anger swelled hot and unforgiving in Jon’s chest.  Damian had no right.  No right to kiss him, no right to shatter Lois’s windows, and especially no right to run away and leave Jon to wrestle with the impending crisis on his own.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Series: Colors (aka A DamiJon Verse that Nobody Asked For) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998268
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	Dark Blue

“Kissing someone then storming off is shitt-- I mean-- _jeez_ \--- a rude thing to do. Pretty much by any standard,” Jon’s voice was light and teasing, and it felt like a rebellion against the oppressive drop in air pressure he felt when he landed on the roof.

Damian sat at the edge of the building, legs dangled over the side, head hung but shoulders squared in an achingly familiar shape. They were on the tallest building in Metropolis. Small potatoes, Jon knew, compared to the skyscrapers in Gotham, where the concrete peaks stretched up so high that they seemed like the fingers of Man himself, clawing uselessly at the barrier between Heaven and Earth.

Damian didn’t respond. Jon would be more concerned if he hadn’t faced this same situation a million times before. Damian’s broody silences were more like a thin blanket than a cold shoulder. His broody poses were as natural as the cadence of his voice.

In Gotham, the sky was too polluted by light and smog to make out any constellations. Metropolis was cleaner, smaller, and Damian’s silhouette was stark against the bright darkness of the sky.

Jon leapt forward, floated in that odd dazed way he always did when he was distracted. “I didn’t deserve that.” He winced. _Shut up_ . He didn’t know why he was speaking, he just needed to shut up, leave Damian alone, like always. So he didn’t push Damian too far and push him away. “I didn’t consent to kiss you.” True. Consent wasn’t just some good farmboy etiquette. Damian knew that; he had to know, everyone did. “ _And…_ kissing someone isn’t a good way to end an argument. Not when it’s just to shut me up.”

Damian stiffened. It was imperceptible to the naked eye, but in his panic, Jon had sent out flighty telepathic feelers toward Damian, and when he stiffened it was like Damian was pressed right up against him, rock solid and uncomfortable. Jon flushed and reeled in his TTK.

“I understand, Kent,” Damian said, but his voice was dull and cold. “I’m a horrible teammate.”

Jon frowned. Anyone else and Jon would have seen it as the emotionally manipulative tactic it was: something meant to sink Jon down into the barbed pit of guilt and derail whatever pulse of annoyance had Jon springing after Damian in the first place. _After Damian kissed him in the middle of an argument and smashed through the window of his mom’s apartment and grappled off into the night_. A flare of brute anger swelled hot and unforgiving in Jon’s chest. Damian had no right. No right to kiss him, no right to shatter Lois’s windows, and especially no right to run away and leave Jon to wrestle with the impending crisis on his own.

But Damian never emotionally manipulated him. Not out of respect for Jon, he’s pretty sure, but out of some unspoken moral code. Damian saw it as a waste of time and honor. He tried to toss Tim Drake off of a dinosaur before he bullied him out of the manner.

If Damian intended to hurt him, or make him forgive him, he’d apologize or fling one of his weapons at him.

“No.” Jon said. Damian still didn’t look at him. “No you’re not. But you are horrible at conversation.”

“Tt. I’ve been trained in diplomacy since I learned how to talk.”

A laugh escaped him. “Then why don’t you try having an actual conversation with me?”

“We are, Kent.” Two months ago, and his name would have been easily replaced by a rude nickname. _Fool. Imbecile_.

“No, we aren’t. You are just trying to make me leave by dancing around the subject and being more condescending than usual.” Jon, quite frankly, wanted to punch something. But he was too afraid he might cause the building to collapse or something, and he’d be grounded for sure.

Damian half-turned his head to face him. His expression was blank, the whites of his mask flashing like firecrackers in the stray glance of headlights below. Jon dropped back down onto the balls of his feet. The corners of Damian’s lips puckered. _Screw it_. He threw himself down next to Damian on the roof. Sprawled out on his back, face tilted skyward, like he and Damian used to do when they were twelve and hanging in the loft of Ma and Pa’s barn. The sharp pieces of gravel bit into the tender skin on his hands and forearms, and if he were completely human, there’d be little red marks where he leaned his weight, but he wasn’t. His skin was unblemished. 

Damian averted his gaze back over the Metropolis. “Could you go five minutes without sunbathing like a dog?”

Jon flicked a spray of gravel at his back. “You did it again.”

Damian spun quickly to glare at him, his mouth twisted up like he was drinking Lois’s fresh lemonade (it was awful, there was never enough sugar). “Fine. If you're such an expert, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say.”

It was supposed to be an insult, probably, but it lacked the usual bitter edge Damian loved wielding like his own blade. He sounded… desperate. Out of breath.

Jon sighed and nudged Damian’s thigh with his toe. “You could start with an apology.”

“I’m sorry, Superboy.”

Jon laughed. “Like you mean it, Damian.”

“What? Are we five, Kent?”

 _No. We’re sixteen._ The fact that weighed on Jon’s shoulders every day. Damian was sixteen. A good sixteen: broad shoulders, sharp angular face, elusive eyes framed by delicate cheekbones and nice thick eyebrows. But he still didn’t act anymore like a sixteen year old than he had acted like a twelve year old. 

“I apologize, Jon. I should not have kissed you.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Why?” The edge was back in Damian’s voice, flinted with annoyance. “Why did I apologize or why did I kiss you?”

Jon grinned at the back of Damian’s head. “Damian I know why you're apologizing.”

“Oh.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I wanted you to be quiet. I thought that much had been obvious.”

The anger rushed back into Jon and before he could think better of it he blew a gust of cold against Damian’s neck. He flailed forward, nearly slipping off the edge, but regained his position after a second. He whipped his head around to stare at Jon, one hand clutched accusingly at the short curly hairs at the nape of neck, coated in dusty white frost.

“I was upset,” Jon said, impartially. “I was upset and you just kissed me out of nowhere. Instead of trying to fix it. Or help or something. If you really liked me, you would have talked it out, Damian.”

“I--” The harsh mask of betrayal was slowly slipping away, Damian’s mouth hanging open, aghast. “But I do like you. I do… like you. That’s why I did it. Okay?”

“No! It’s not okay, Damian! You liking me isn’t an excuse for what you did. We can’t be in any sort of relationship, romantic or not, if you’re going to use my feelings and your feelings as weapons. I won’t Damian. It’s not cute. It’s not nice!”

Damian stared at him like Jon had sprouted a second head. His jaw worked, chewing his words like Pa chewed bubblegum. “I did not consider how you felt.” A breath, caught and tangled. Jon didn’t think he’d ever seen Damian this distraught. “I wanted to kiss you and it benefitted me at the time. I did not think. But I will. I will think in the future.”

Jon rolled forward into a sitting position, so he was side by side with Damian. Damian showed no response to their narrowed proximity, but, loudly, now at Damian’s side, Jon heard the immediate slow in heartbeat.

Damian nodded. “You’ve always been the nice one,” he continued, and Jon was hyper aware of the gentle trip in his breaths. “So maybe, you could teach me. For a change.”

Against the Metropolis sky, Damian is wreathed in pinpricks of light, like the edges of his skin-- his hair, his forehead, his sharp nose, the bow of his lips-- mark a new pattern in the night sky, like he himself is a constellation.

Jon leaned closer, and Damian bent to meet him. The kiss was warm and supple and all give, slow and lazy. No rush, no running. When they parted, Jon could hear his own heartbeat in chorus with Damian’s, frenzied and gleeful.

Damian’s tongue swiped across his lower lip, and he tipped his chin up to the Heavens. His face was basked in a lovely dark blue light. “So.” A smile curled around the corner of his lip. “We should talk about this, yes?”


End file.
